The author and his wife, Pam, enjoy a night out.

The author and his wife, Pam, enjoy a night out.

By dk davis

As I sat alone in the doctor’s office waiting impatiently for Dr. Karen Ethans to arrive, I stared at the three posters tacked to the faded yellow walls. The first poster was disturbing in its graphic candor, as it showed several stages of a pressure sore in some poor guy’s keister, including a color photo of a baseball-sized hole in one cheek. The second poster listed methods of birth control throughout history, including the reliability of each method — according to the poster, “crossing your fingers” is the least reliable. It was the last poster, however, that most intrigued me. It was a drawing of the male reproductive system, and while the poster was almost childlike in its simplicity, the model had obviously been all man. As I sat and stared at this poster, Dr. Ethans opened the door.

“Good Morning, Mr. Davis.”

“Good morning. Doc, did you ever take a close look at this poster?” I nodded toward the cartoon Priapus.

After a cursory glance, she smiled. “The artist had either a great imagination, or a big friend. What can I help you with today?”

“Well Doc, it’s like this. I’ve noticed lately that the ‘mighty oak’ of my youth has given way to a ‘wobbly weeping willow,’